If Only
by Candy888
Summary: Second-person drabbles based off of quotes or prompts from the books. #9: Scars. "So many scars, on top of and beneath your skin. Branding you as who you are- avenger, survivor, a plethora of names. " Prompts accepted!
1. Crying Like a Girl

**A/N: Second-person drabble series, inspired by a quote from one of the books. First one: Crying like a girl, from the end of The Fall of Five. POV's: Five, and Nine. R&amp;R&amp;enjoy! I also take requests for any quotes that you want me to use.**

xX-Xx

_Crying like a girl._

His words echo in your head as you struggle to wrap your mind around the events that just occurred. You stumble deliriously. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. They were supposed to realize the true power of the Beloved Leader, and let him guide them towards the light. Instead, everything has broken down within you.

"Crying like a girl," he continues to taunt, unaware of your ever-growing insanity and bloodlust, "look at him, crying off in the corner."

Anger fests in you as his words strike fury in your heart. He continues to stand there, a cocky smile on his face as he sneers at you. You had never liked him before, and the feeling was mutual, but now, now all you feel towards him is hatred, a wish for death.

His last sentence drives you off of the edge. Looking back, you can't remember what is was that made you so incensed, so intent on killing him. You lunge forward, red blinding your vision. In the background, you can hear her cries for you to stop, but you don't care. No, all you can see is his shocked face as you pin him to the ground, eyes radiating all of your hidden fury and madness. You laugh at the look of surprise and fear on his face, and smile, a devious, triumphant smile, as you lower the blade towards his heart.

But then it happens. You had thought that no one would have been able to stop you. He, the symbol of your anger, was pinned down. His brainwashed companion unconscious. She was standing off to the side, held back by your slight push. Except you forgot about him, the second person who you thought would be willing to convert to the light. Despite his easygoing nature, it seemed that his heart was truly loyal and determined, always ready to save a friend who didn't deserve it.

He appears in the middle of your blood-stained vision, ready to take the killing blow meant for another. You try to draw back. It's too late.

Drawn by adrenaline, your blade drives into his heart. You watch as the light dies from his eyes. His hands reaching out towards her, trying to tell her something. Yet there is no more time. He slumps down, gone. Dimly, you can hear others shouting in the background, but you know no more thought, no more feeling. It was never supposed to happen this way. You can never go back now. Driven by rage, fueled by anger, you had acted rashly. All based off the taunts of one so trivial, unimportant. You, too, bend over, mind disappearing. Crying. _Crying like a girl._

xX-Xx

_Crying like a girl._

You taunt him, sneering at his crouching body with a confident smirk on your face. In reality, you're just trying to cover up your mistakes, and hide your wounded ego. Despite how much you disliked him, there was a sense of trust you shared, simply because he was one of you. Trust that has broken the second he attacked you.

So you hide what you feel, attacking him with barbs and knives in the form of words. Trying to forget the feeling of helplessness you had when he shoved you down under the water. You had flailed, desperately, lungs burning for oxygen, but to no avail. He had laughed at you, laughed at all of you, and you can't help but think he is right to laugh. For you trusted him. You all did.

But the four of you eventually manage to overpower him, and he is reduced to this. Hunched over, struggling to regain his breath, mumbling incomprehensibly. You stand over him, watching as tears seem to fall out of his eyes and down his dirt-streaked face.

Then, suddenly, he lunges at you. You topple backwards, shocked. He laughs manically, preparing to shove his blade straight into your heart. Defiantly, you stare back into his eyes, which are alight with insanity. Again, you struggle, but you can't escape his iron-clad grip. You underestimated how angry you would make him; how that anger would turn into power even greater than your own. So you accept your fate, and prepare yourself for death. _I deserved it, _you think, _for kicking him when he was down to try and salvage my pride_.

Only it never comes. At the last second, someone else appears and takes the wickedly sharp knife for you. You can only look on in horror as a familiar mop of curly hair appears in front of you. Look on as the blade sinks into his body instead. As blood blossoms on his clothes, seeping around him in a pool, and getting on to your hands. Blood you will never be able to wash off.

It's too late to save him. The life fades from his eyes as he reaches out for Marina, trying to tell her words he never had the courage to say earlier. He smiles for the last time, before his hand falls to the ground beside you. You stare in shock. One of your best friends just died for you. _It was just like Sandor and Maddy again. _You failed to save them, and they died for you.

If only you hadn't ignited the rage within Five. Again, you had been too cocky, too over-confident, and someone else had paid the price.

Mutely, you wordlessly scream your agony for the world to hear. But no one can hear you now.

So you finally break down, collapsing. Around you, the shouts of the others are faintly heard, but you can't comprehend them. You see your attacker reel away from you, as if horrified by what he did. It's too late for regret.

The last bit of your pride crumbles, leaving the broken boy exposed. The boy who was forced to kill his mentor. The boy who was betrayed by the girl he loved, then watched her die in front of him. You sink onto your knees, crying. What a hypocrite you are, you think to yourself. Because you too, are bawling like there's no tomorrow.

_Crying like a girl._

xX-Xx

**Hope you enjoyed!**

**-Candy888**


	2. Broken Promises

**A/N: Part 2! For whatever reason, I seem to be fixated on Eight's death (probably because I stayed up crying all night when I read it), so here we have Marina, Nine, Marina, and then Eight again all mainly centered on his death. I tried to include some happier parts about before he died, but I'm not too sure how it turned out. Let me know, R&amp;R&amp;enjoy! Also, thanks to Ashley Sky and Tactum Ignis for reviewing! (seriously, I just sort of stared at my computer screen in happy shock for a couple hours...)**

**–Candy888**

**_Broken Promises_**

_He shouldn't have died._

Wise men are not always silent, but know when to be. This statement never resonated with you more than it does now. He will learn when to listen, when to speak, when to flat out shut up. The others will learn to let things go, that some things have to play out. It is so hard, you think, staring at a lifeless body, staring at someone who was so alive just moments ago. He cries; you all do.

You try to believe that he was acting purely on impulse, that he did not mean to do it, but all you feel is the emptiness inside of yourself filling with cold. An emptiness that was once filled with thoughts of him. All you see is his blade, its end like a whip, driving its way into his core. A core that was once alive, holding the soul of the most selfless person you ever knew. All you hear are desperate cries, regretful and sorrowful wails, shocked breaths. Cries that fill the void of what was once silence.

The aftermath of a twisted but somehow good willed plan gone awry.

He shouldn't have died, you think, it shouldn't have been him.

Then he, the one who so rashly plunged his blade into him who is now gone, has the gall to cry. To have regret for what he so heartlessly did. To mourn the loss of a friend. His tears roll down his face, and you feel anger. Red-hot anger surging through your veins.

The sounds are you dim, until all you can see is him. Why did it have to be Eight, you think. When he was only trying to save a friend, because it was in his nature to. And why does he get to feel regret. Your fury rapidly builds up, until wave after wave, it consumes you.

Whatever self-control that had been present a moment ago diminishes. Gone as fast as it came, so fast that it feels like it was never there. The ice spreads and you stand, with what intent, you don't know. The cold holds you, freezing together pieces that would otherwise have shattered. But this is not the time to be solid and strong. So you let go, you break, and the first protrusion appears.

xX-Xx

It wasn't your fault. But you blame yourself anyways. You should have held it in, like Sandor had always said. Haunting memories tear at you, taking away more of your soul with each breath you take. Maddy. Another death you caused. Another person you failed to protect. You could have, no should have stopped it from happening, stopped the unthinkable. But you were too caught up in your own wounds.

One more piece of you breaks down, floating away into the darkness. You are a porcelain statue, crumbling from the inside.

xX-Xx

You know that it wasn't his fault. They could have never predicted what was coming. That his harmless taunts would drive the other one over the edge, to the point where he, fueled on rage and insanity, would take the life of an innocent. Yet you blame him anyways, or at least a part of you does. Because your heart aches. When you snap, let the cold feeling of hurt and death radiate off of you, you don't think. Don't feel. Just hurt.

It wasn't his fault. But you wish it was, so you can have a reason for your fury.

xX-Xx

_Promise me more days like this. Consider it done._

If only the two of you had more time. You remember the short time you shared together. How you managed to completely and irrevocably fall for him within it. He had taken you out through the streets of Chicago, the two of you gawking and laughing at everything you spotted. Shared irreplaceable memories, even in the form of a gross hot dog.

Fooling around, he had bent down in front of you, asking how he could ever repay you. You already have, is what you think. But you ask him for more days like this. And he promises you. But there was never enough time.

You had managed to save him once, in New Mexico. Where a sword had plunged into his torso, exactly like the painting had foretold. And you thought you had stopped destiny. But fate has a way of taking place anyways.

This time, you couldn't save him. He reached out towards you, trying to tell you something. But all you could feel was numb, and an immeasurable sense of guilt.

_Promise me more days like this. _It was promise that was never meant to be kept.

xX-Xx

_Consider it done. _

You had promised her. You would have done anything for her, yet she only requested one thing. One thing that you couldn't even do for her.

When she had saved you, back when you were in New Mexico and you had mistaken Setrakus for Six, enveloping "her" in a hug, only to be stabbed straight through the stomach. For a short time, you drifted in and out of consciousness, dimly listening to the shouts of the others and the crack of his whip in the background, as you stare into the darkness behind your eyelids. Is this how it ends, you think. You recall the painting in the cave, the one you had desecrated when you had learned of your fate. Now though, you can only accept it, having no way out.

Then you hear her voice. Beckoning you, pleading with you to stay alive.

It's as if you had taken a million energy drinks. A surge of power rushes through your body, and urge to _stay alive and __**fight**__. _So you fight back. Knock away the tendrils of death that threaten to consume you. Accept the icy feeling of being healed into your body, letting it flow through you.

And you're suddenly back, gasping for air. Faces swim into your vision, but your eyes lock onto hers. The girl, _Marina,_ who is determinedly continuing to heal you, forehead beaded with sweat. You groggily sit up, before shaking your head and trying to get your bearings. Soon enough, you are ready to fight again.

But before that, she does something so shocking to you that you can only sit there and stare. Grabbing your face in her hands, she leans in and kisses you. Your eyes are wide as you gape at her in surprise.

Hey, no time like the present, right? She says, with a light smile, before she turns, ready to heal someone else.

After that, you thought you were safe. That despite all odds, you had managed to avoid your fate. So you take a risk, and chase her. She accepts your fumbling attempt at asking her out, and the two of you wind your way through the streets of Chicago. You ask her what you can do to repay her, because you are deliriously thankful, crazily in love.

Laughingly, she says _promise me more days like this._

And you respond, _Consider it done._

Because you never considered the possibility that it might already be too late for you to. That the gears of betrayal and strings of death are already turning, unstoppable.

Then everything is torn to shreds in Florida, where the four of you had unwittingly walked straight into a trap. Where the fifth one, lost in a sea of madness and abandonment, had fallen apart and frenetically tried to kill two of you, before being overwhelmed by your combined strength.

Only to overpower the four of you once more as the arrogant one pushes him too far.

He lunges towards Nine, fury alight on his face, and you know that he is going to kill him.

So you do the only thing you can do. You accept your fate, knowing that you will break your promise to her by doing so. Closing your eyes, you teleport yourself for the last time, right into the path of his blade.

Sounds and sights fade into nothingness once more, as you reach out your arm, trying to convey a message to her.

_I'm sorry, Marina. I can't promise you any more days than what we had. I'm sorry._

xX-Xx


	3. Darkness

**A/N: Hey, part 3 already! This one is Ella-centric, and about her time after her capture in The Fall of Five. Poor Ella. I hope things get better for her in the last book. Thanks to Tactum Ignis and mysteriousperson for reviewing! R&amp;R&amp;Enjoy please! – Candy888**

**Darkness**

_The nightmare is over. When I open my eyes, there's nothing but darkness. _

You used to love staring at the sky. Compelling, fascinating; the darker it got, the more brightly it shone. The stars glowing with no purpose but to simply cast away some of the darkness.

Now you're in an opposing position. Not gazing into the heavens, head tilted up, but looking down, at one of the many formations present in an infinity. Crayton had once told you about the stars, that by the time my eyes registered their hopeful light, the star had become another darkness. Now, as you wait in the emptiness, it crosses your mind that perhaps you too will become a star. Maybe by the time the others discover where you have been taken, you will have already joined the darkness.

xX-Xx

But from darkness, comes light. Maybe you will have gone to that darkness, but you will always remember the light. Always recall the times spent with the stars of your own life.

_I won't ever let anyone hurt you, El._

You were just supposed to be a number. No, not even that. You were never supposed to be alive. Just a girl shipped off to an unknown planet by her twisted father. Yet, that wasn't the end of your story. Crayton took care of you, raised you like his own child. Nurtured, helped and protected you. He made you who you are today; Ella, Number 10.

_We're a team, Ella. And team members don't give up on each other._

Marina. Knowing nothing about you, she took you under her wing. Gave you protection and a home when Crayton couldn't. When the sisters came to punish you, she tried to take the blow instead. She stood firm on the battlefield, holding her own against _them. _Healed all of you, physically and mentally. A calm point on a raging sea.

Yet even she couldn't protect you against your nightmares, couldn't begin to comprehend your fears.

_You've got fond dreams, kid._

To you, it all seemed lost when the dreams started coming. Pouring in relentlessly, driving you past the brink of insanity. They tried to protect you, but it wasn't what you wanted. You wanted to get stronger, to fight the pain yourself. That's why he helped you. He helped you to fight, to stand up for yourself. And you knew that he understood your pain. Because beneath his tough exterior, you knew he was hurting more than yourself.

So even if you do descend into the darkness, you will always keep striving towards the light.

xX-Xx

_He wants things to be just like in my nightmare._

He smiles at you, a cruelly twisted smile, the one of a man malicious enough to desecrate his entire race without a single care in the world.

On the exterior, you dine like a princess. Clad in a long black gown, hands pale and flawless, and your face an emotionless mask. Your brown hair is pulled up into an elegant at the twist at the nape of your neck. The two of you sit at either end of the long table, dining on the finest meat _The Anubis _has to offer.

However, on the inside, you are trembling. In fear or hatred, you don't know which. The slab of meat on your plate more closely resembles an uncooked slug oozing on your plate, rather than anything remotely edible. Underneath your dress, battle scars proudly manifest over your skin, symbols of how you had fought against this man and everything he had done to you and your kind.

The dress itself that you wear is a symbol of what he has done to you. Invaded and tortured your mind, fed you overtly disturbingly realistic images of a future. A future where the Earth had been demolished, and you sat on a throne next to him, not saying a word as the last remainder of your friends were executed before your eyes. And as you had held your head high in that throne, unable to move a single muscle in your body, the dress you were in is akin to the one you have on your skin now. The same itchy black material you try to restrain yourself from tearing off.

He can sense your discomfort. It shows in his eyes, the seemingly endless black orbs that tear into your soul, stripping you of everything you once had.

He attempts to exchange pleasantries with you, keeping up the pretense of a kind and benevolent ruler, despite the fact that you both know he is the opposite of that.

His entire body is revolting, his bulbous head with his malevolent leer, teeth filed down to a deadly point. Countless medals decorate his person, each detailing his accomplishments of defiling and decimating billions of innocent people.

Gesturing to the food, he invites you to take a bite of the oh so delicious meal, all the while explaining the finer reasons of his grand plan.

xX-Xx

_You're a monster. I will never not hate you._

You talk back instead, replying I'm not hungry, crossing your arms petulantly and refusing to take a bit of whatever that _thing _is.

You would rather die than submit to him, and judging by the smug look on his face, this fact doesn't worry him in the slightest.

Then, determined to get his self-satisfied smirk to falter, you go so far as to insult Setrakus Ra, great Mogadorian ruler and destroyer of your people right to his face.

How am I supposed to eat with your nasty face right there, you say.

A flash of anger sparks in his eyes and across his expression, his confident façade slipping. But, instead of attacking you as you had expected, he pulls out his infamous cane, the red eye swirling and causing his appearance to change to that of someone more aesthetically pleasing.

You don't let that deter you, even if it means you have to take a bite of your 'meal.' Because you will never, ever, stop despising him.

The meat lodges in your throat, before disintegrating and slipping down in a manner similar to sawdust. You grimace slightly, but don't let it show.

After all, you can keep up an act just as well as anyone else.

xX-Xx

_Just like them, we are linked._

You scream in pain as the scar tears into your flesh, causing it to bubble and burst along its edges. The red energy sears into your skin, burning straight through the wretched dress.

All the while, he stands above you, smiling beatifically. Eyes cynical and hard, as he watches you writhe on the frozen floor in pain.

Eventually, somehow, it is finally over. A ring of pink scar tissue remains wrapped around your ankle, a constant reminder of your torture.

You look over at him, and stare in horror. For on his leg is an identical scar, pant leg burned away to reveal it.

Now, he says, vindictive leer on his face once more, just like them, we are linked.

xX-Xx


	4. On the Brink

**A/N: Wow Part 4 already! This one starts off from the POV of an OC Mog general, then on to each of the remaining Garde (not including Five), so John, then Six, then Marina, then Nine, and then Ella (hope that's not too confusing). Thanks to **_**lorien stories**_** for reviewing( I'll try to write out a one-shot about Sam later on for now I hope you like the small bit about Six in here XD) R&amp;R&amp;Enjoy! –Candy888**

xX-Xx

_The time has come for them to fall._

You gaze at the Great Leader in admiration, listening to his voice boom and echo throughout the stone chamber.

_**Years ago, we thought we had eradicated the entirety of a pathetic race**_, He states, face a malicious sneer. All around Him, those present stare up at Him in worship and respect, hanging onto his every word.

_**We were wrong**__,_ he continues, _**but now, the time has come for those remaining to die.**_

_**We will eradicate them like the insects they are, and crush them underfoot!**_He declares, and the entire cavern erupts into thunderous cheering.

_**Silence**__! _He commands, and everyone falls silent, not daring to disobey Him.

You contemptuously gaze at the vatborn soldiers gathered below you. They are beneath you, but highly necessary for the upcoming invasion. They will desecrate those miserable humans and insufferable Loric from the planet, making it fit for the true-born Mogadorians to live there.

_**It is almost time for the invasion. General Derklith, step forward. **_You arrogantly stride forward to stand one pace behind Him. _**Seeing as General Sutekh has been incapacitated by those despicably weak Loric, General Derklith will now be your new Commander. You are to obey his every command, and drive out those unbearable pests!**_

You glare at the crowd gathered underneath the podium in disdain, eyes alight with unshakeable fury. The Loric, as well as the traitorous Mogadorian who turned his back on his own race will pay for what they did to a fearless general and soldier. It will be your honour to show those scum to their inescapable doom.

_**It is time for us to take over the Earth. To march forth, into the new age! The time has come for them, to fall!**_

His audience explodes into frenetic shouting so loud you can barely hear yourself think over the din. You turn your eyes to your Great Leader. He offers a sneer at you, a cold malicious sneer, but one that shows you the promise of the future that is to come.

xX-Xx

You watch over the various soldiers marching simultaneously onto the black warships parked on the tarmac, prepared to take flight thousands of miles towards the battlefield. Each Mogadorian stands perfectly in line with then next, a fearsome platoon of unified warriors.

It is almost time to leave. However, there is one more thing to do before you go. You glower at the line of commanding officers standing in front of you, your scowl outmatching each of their own. Nonetheless, each of them prove to be true Mogadorians, easily withstanding the fiery hatred directed at them.

_Soldiers! Lead your platoon to glory, for Mogadore and for Our Great Leader! _You bark at them, stare never breaking from their eyes, _For the honour gained from bloodshed, fight onwards! Today you fight for your leader and to kill those loathsome pests! Do not disappoint me!_

Each general salutes back at you, voices a united assent.

_Dismissed! _You call out, turning your back on them. You allow a slow, wicked smile to spread itself across your face, despite the pain that courses through your cheeks as a side effect. As if on cue, you touch your hand to your cheek, where the old scar of a knife wound lies there. Yes, the Loric will pay for what they did. And ultimately, they will fall.

xX-Xx

_The time has come for us to rise._

All your life has been spent hiding out in one place or another. Then in all changed in Paradise. Where you had met Sarah, Sam and Mark; where you had lost Henri and found Six. That had been the first time you rose in battle against Them, the ones who had taken everything away from you. You had been a strange combination of petrified and enraged back then, adrenaline running through your veins.

Now, you have changed. You are ready to face them, and pay them back for what they have done to you, your family, and your entire planet. You have gained allies and friends, seen loved ones die in front of your eyes. Truly, you have risen to become a leader.

xX-Xx

Ever since Katarina died, you were on your own. Running away from the soldiers alone from as young as 13, trying to stay alive. It wasn't always like that, though.

You were captured due to your own carelessness, and you watched Katarina die in front of you, all because you were too foolish, too _weak _to help her. And in the end, despite the fact that you had confessed everything to that Mogadorian soldier, crumbling under the slightest bit of emotional pain and torture, you had still been unable to save her, to stop her death. Instead, you could only stare in horror as the blade plunged into her torso, powerless to do anything.

For days on end you can only gaze blankly at your cell wall as the Mogadorians try every plausible form of torture on you, but to no avail. Meanwhile, you can only think about how _weak_you were.

When you finally make it out, thanks to the miracle of your new legacy, you hijack the nearest truck and drive straight away for a week without stopping once, except for gas. You try to outrun your memories, keep the nightmares at bay, but they always keep on coming back.

So you vow that you will get stronger. You will rise up one day, and defeat Them, along with the others.

xX-Xx

For so long, all you knew was the convent. You were beginning to doubt even the proof of your own existence, wondering who you were. Who knows where you would have ended up if it hadn't been for everyone else.

First, Ella. When she had shown up at the orphanage, your heart went out to the innocent little girl whose parents had died. In truth, she was another Loric, just like you, and the two of you formed an unshakeable bond.

Then, Six. You remember when you first saw her in your dream, the image of a strong and fearless warrior engrained into your mind. In an ironic twist, it had been almost dream-like when you saw her fight in real life, whirling around with weapons flashing as she fought to save you, flickering in and out of sight, and her legacies on full display.

Finally, Eight. He saved you so many times, and you managed to save him, once. Only to watch him fall out of reach, drowning in his own selfless sacrifice. You lost control then, and you made a vow to yourself. His death will not be in vain, for you plan to make them pay for it.

And so you train, every day. Honing your legacies and strength, hardening your heart and readying your mind for what is to come. It is time you finally rose up to become Number Seven, strong and proud.

xX-Xx

This is the story of how you learned to be fearless, but how it ultimately turned into your greatest weakness. For so long, you think yourself to be invincible; invulnerable to any hurt or pain. You are the perfect little soldier- no attachments other than to Sandor, courageous and ready to stand up and fight at any given moment. Then _she _enters your life and everything is flipped upside down.

Precipitously, everything is brighter, louder, and more vibrant, all because of _her _presence. You learn to love, falling head over heels for her, doing everything you can to impress her enough to see her enigmatic smile. You think the world of her. But you are wrong, and you are all the more hurt because of it.

Forcing yourself to kill your best friend, guardian, and mentor. Being betrayed by the girl you loved who was only trying to save her family, then watching her die for it too.

Gone is the boy who once loved, and was loved by someone. You are reduced to an empty shell of what you once were, wallowing in the darkness of your own soul.

You stare at the wall in your cell, regretting the mistakes that you made and vowing to never make them again. Create a cocky, overconfident façade to hide the scared little boy inside you. Bury away your secrets, memories, and weaknesses.

You are ready to rise up again. Ready to rise up and make them regret what they did to you.

xX-Xx

Life has a way of turning your entire world around right when you think things are balanced. Once, you proudly thought of yourself as Number 10, one of the few remaining Loric still fighting for the cause. But you soon realized that you were just a girl who managed to get lucky and escape the planet due to her paranoid and cowardly father. You began to doubt the entirety of your reasons to live; that was when the nightmares started.

Plaguing your mind both day and night, causing you to fear the simple act of falling asleep, terrified of what could happen in your dreams. Frozen, trapped in a world of desolation. A voice you instinctively identified as His, calling out to you, claiming you as his heir.

And then, just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, your entire life spun into a living nightmare. Imprisoned on a Mogadorian ship right before the impending invasion. Pressured and threatened into acknowledging family relations you never wanted to know about.

Then you're whisked back to Earth, branded with the deadly scar around your leg. And you realize something.

You are the only one that can Kill him. For the charm that he placed on you to ensure his immortality only succeeded in allowing you to injure him without worry. It will probably kill you, carrying out your task, but you are prepared to do it, ready to succeed in the stead of the others. For your loved ones, both dead and alive.

You are Ella, Number 10. And it is time to rise up and end this war.

xX-Xx


	5. Mistakes

**A/N: Um...hi? Sorry, way overdue update (like 3 weeks late), exams have been stressing me out soooo much** **(I had 3 exams yesterday and it killed me) but hopefully I can update more regularly soon. In exchange, here's a longer-than-usual update (over 2k words this time). Thanks to revenge-is-sweet-98 for reviewing!  
****This drabble is based off of Numbers One, Two and Three and how they died. R&amp;R&amp;Enjoy!  
**

**-Candy888**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I don't own the characters, quotes or pretty much anything else.**

**xX-Xx**

**Mistakes**

_They found Number One in Malaysia._

It was a stupid, terrible mistake, but at the time you thought nothing of it. You were just another lovesick girl, finally getting to enjoy the pleasure of holding some sort of attraction towards someone else, a mundane and _normal _thing. You could be someone else, for a change. After everything you had been shoved through, it was a sense of blissful relief to pretend to be an ordinary girl.

You began to think that perhaps it was all a myth after all. Sure, you could remember the year-long journey on the ship, and the faint flashes of the life you had before that. But your mind wanted, longed, wished, hungered so much for just a tinge of being a human- a teenaged girl- that it warped your memories, made you believe that what you had been told was false.

So you let yourself be swept up into the world of feelings, hopes and desires. Into a place of glamourous lies and rollercoasters of emotions.

Just another fool in love, you think wryly to yourself. Your feelings had blinded you, made you throw caution to the wind as you went against everything you had ever known. Later, when those photos of your scars had surfaced, you felt an inexplicable sense of regret- but by then it was already far too late.

Now you stand alone, facing off an endless crowd of Mogadorians that you convinced yourself only existed in your nightmares. Your Cepan, your one true companion lay dead by your feet. All because of you.

Primal rage takes over your instincts as you stomp your foot on the ground, letting loose another seismic wave that shakes the ground with the weight of your emotions. Anger, regret, despair, fear, sorrow and rage all bundled in one.

Some of them stumble and fall onto the ground, and you feel a twinge of sadistic satisfaction. Let them fall, and experience that humiliation of falling to a teenager. Let them feel pain.

But they keep advancing towards you.

You are not strong enough to keep them at bay, hold them off so you can run away again. Your legacies run rampant, wild and uncontrollable when they should be tightly refined and controlled, like Hilde had wanted them to be.

A disappointment, that's what you are.

What you were supposed to be was Number One. Accepting of your Loric heritage, and ready to fight for your planet. A Garde that Hilde would have been proud of having. In a way, you were meant to protect the others- after all, your death invariably leads to the vulnerability of Number Two, and the paranoia and mortality of all the numbers after.

There is no plausible way out of your situation, you realize.

But you will go down fighting. Never let them have the satisfaction of breaking you, shattering your spirit and ripping away your identity. You let loose another shockwave from your foot, glaring down each and every last one of them.

You are still overpowered.

A knife jabs into your back, a sharp throbbing burn. You try to ignore it but another one soon joins it and you crumple from the pain, falling towards the ground. Desperately, you thrash and flail your limbs wildly and knocking back a few approaching Mogadorians; it's still all in vain, and you watch through rapidly fading vision as the hordes of leering soldiers approach your fallen body.

Dimly, you can register more blades stabbing into your torso, kicks and punches bruising your skin. However, you are already long gone, glassy eyes staring vacantly up at the sky.

_I'm sorry, Hilde. Je suis désolé. Lo siento. I minta maaf. _

A dozen apologies, conveyed in so many ways, in so many languages. Each of them a mark of the different identities you have gone through, each one a bigger lie than the last. Yet no apology can truly convey your sorrow over your stupid, stupid mistakes.

xX-Xx

_Number Two in England._

Your hand hovers hesitantly over the mouse as you scan through your post one last time. A final attempt to call for help.

_Nine, now eight. Are the rest of you out there?_

Unconvicting. Cryptic and unnoticeable to those who were not watching. But you recall Conrad's harshly stressed words- "_They have eyes everywhere. Don't let your guard down, not even for a second."_

Even so, you know that you have to find out; figure out what happened to everyone else. Scared and alone. Are you the only one left? Since that scar had wrapped itself around your ankle, searing into your flesh and leaving a permanent mark, you knew that they were coming after you next. But you have no way of knowing what had happened to the others- your questions and suspicions eat away at you night after night as you wonder, _What's going to happen to me?_

Then, Conrad had received information that the Mogadorians were honing in your location, prepared to close in for the kill. So the two of you had split up, heading to your next safe house. Only this time, Conrad isn't here.

You don't know what's happened to him. Frantically, you had scoured the news for the past few hours for any sign that he's still out there, and on his way over. Nothing. Not even a hint that he's even alive.

You're only 12 after all, trapped by yourself in a deadly game of survival against thousands of stronger and faster soldiers. What if you're the only one now? If the others were captured, if they were being held in Mogadorian bases at this very moment, if-

Snap out of it! You try to tell yourself, but your emotions only continue to gnaw on your mind and plague your thoughts.

Your resolution to post that message slowly grows with the doubts you harbour within yourself. It's okay, you attempt to reassure your conflicting reservations, you know how to hide yourself online. They're not going to find you from this.

But posting this message, sending this veritable flare that literally says I'mrightherepleasekillmenow goes against all of what Conrad had told you, what he had cautioned you against, what he had drilled into you, honed your instincts and skills for every day.

Even if you did know what had happened to the rest of them…what good would that do? It's too late to save you now. For all you know, Conrad is dead, killed by the Mogadorians, and they were on their way to murder you next. This would just speed up the process.

Maybe a warning. You could send a warning.

_The city with the Eye-_

No. That would just tip off the Mogadorians to your own current location.

An attempt to reach out for help, perhaps.

_Two, help pleas-_

How could they help you, even if you asked them too? Would they risk breaking the charm for a girl that's already long-dead?

What should you do? What _could _you do? There's no way you can single-handedly take out any invading Mogadorians who decide to come and kill you. You have your usual hand pistol, but what good is half a dozen bullets going to do against a whole army of trained killers? Unaided, supported only by yourself. You don't even have any legacies yet, being too young to receive them.

Who are you, even, to call out for help? Not even worthy of the title of Future Loric Elder.

Somehow though, you just have to know…are the rest of the Garde out there? Do they have their Cepans? Are they as alone and petrified as you now feel? Are they still preparing to fight?

In spite of all your misgivings, how _wrong _it feels to be sending up this beacon, you know you have to do it. It's your last chance, your last flare of hope in the bleak world of someone about to die.

You turn towards the computer screen once more, and click on the 'Post' button.

The words scrawl across the screen one by one, black against a stark white background. It's a gamble, a risk, and one that you know won't pay off. One way or another, you've sealed your fate.

_Nine, now eight. Are the rest of you out there?_

xX-Xx

_Number Three in Kenya._

You thought you could survive. Thought that you and your Cepan had outsmarted the Mogadorians, hiding in a remote and isolated village for so many years that you had managed to outplay them in a lethal game of hide-and-seek.

You had almost forgotten that you were in the midst of a war, even with your daily physical training and attempts to get stronger.

How naïve you were. But you were happy then, too.

Happy enough to hide the truth.

You underestimated their technology, their ability to hone in on your location just days after that virtually unknown article was published about your 'intriguing' scars. Didn't actually think that they would show up. Even though you knew the clock was ticking ever since that second scar had seared itself into the flesh surrounding your ankle.

So gullible. Easily tricked into playing a friendly game of basketball with two Mogadorians. No, you yourself had invited them to play, aiming to find more friends and forgetting that you could be killed at any second.

After all, you told yourself, you had been training daily, getting stronger and faster through sports and the obstacle course your Cepan had set up. You had superior agility and reflexes, and that would get you through whatever happened

Blind. Blind to the fact that one boy, defenceless and without legacies, would ever be able to stand toe to toe with their technology and abilities.

You immersed yourself in the village for so many years, long enough that you practically became one of the villagers. Careful too, to hide your scars underneath high socks and never say or do anything that could give away your identity.

Why were you so delusional? Unable to leave a place that wasn't your true home, letting your guard down by thinking that you could live in peace, forgetting that you were Number Three and that your sense of security would only last so long.

It wasn't like you had anywhere else, though. This was the one place you had stayed long enough to feel welcomed, feel like you a part of something. It wasn't your true home. But it was the closest thing to it. You can't even remember what Lorien was like, who your parents were, where you lived, anything.

So many warnings. The sudden vaccine procedures. The two pale-skinned individuals asking about your scars. The rumours that were flying around, all about you and the mysterious carvings on your ankle- your scars.

Yet you ignored them all. Slept at night with both eyes closed without a care in the world for what was to come.

And you were rash. All the repeatedly drilled emergency escape routes that had been drilled into your head fly out of your mind the second you see your Cepan, your guardian, slump to the ground with a sword carelessly plunged into his body.

You tear through the jungle trying to evade all the soldiers that are now sprinting after you. Leap over fallen branches and crash through the undergrowth to go somewhere, anywhere. Is there anywhere to go?

There are so many of them. Far more than you could have ever predicted. Giant crowds of Mogadorians stomping through the underbrush, metal weapons glinting in the moonlight as they chase after you, menacing grins shining through the darkness.

Just keep running. Keep running. Running where? What are you supposed to do? You can't fight against them without any weapons, can't outrun them when they have numbers, can't hide when there's nowhere to hide, can't do anything against them.

You should have thought things through, should have _realized _something when Number Two had died- the sacrifices of One and Two, the deaths of your entire planet are all in vain now because you will be joining them too, unable to do anything to stop your impending doom.

Legs pumping, your feet carry you through the familiar path of the jungle until they come skidding to a halt at the edge of a ravine. You try to look down, but all you can see is darkness and protruding rocks that promise oblivion; you can't go any further. Faintly, you can see the other side, free from any soldiers, beckoning almost mockingly to you across the wide chasm.

There's no other choice. And no time, you conclude, as you briefly look back and glimpse the approaching wave of weapons and beasts.

Gritting your teeth, you dash straight towards the edge of the cliff, hoping against hope that your legs will propel you across the distance. You fly through the air, limbs desperately flailing against the wind. You're not going to make it. It's too far. You're falling, falling-

You collapse on the other side, panting as you allow yourself one small smile of triumph. You made it. In an instant, you're back on your feet again, prepared to make a break for it only to be hoisted into the air by a crushing grip on your neck. There was another soldier here, after all. And not just any soldier. He is a general, complete with medals for his various accomplishments that litter his uniform. They were probably given to him after the mass slaughter of your people.

He sneers at you, fingers threatening to cut off your air supply. You kick out your legs and claw at his grip in a futile attempt to get free, only to have him look condescendingly down at you, thinking himself to be above you, to be beyond this mundane task of murdering just another Loric.

It's the end.

You lock eyes with him, glare hatefully into the seemingly soulless orbs. He will not kill you like he would an animal, a senseless beast that no one will remember. You will make him remember you.

Gasping, you manage to spit out your last words.

_The Legacies live on. _

You know that the others will grow stronger, learn from the mistakes of those that are dead. They will be stronger, and they will fight. They will not be as foolish as you, not have the regrets you have now.

_They will find each other._

His face becomes a mask of rage as his hand reaches for his sword, prepared to silence you forever.

_And when they're ready, they __**will **__destroy the Mogadorians._

His sword plunges into your torso, and you know no more.

xX-Xx


	6. Traitor

**A/N: Another update! This one is comparing Adam and Five (hopefully not too OOC, Adam was really really hard to try and get in character). I actually found Five a really interesting character to attempt to write cos he kinda showed that the Loric aren't perfect, y'know? They have their own flaws, and they make mistakes as well. Like even though I really dislike Five because EIGHT he's still a fascinating character to me and oops I'm rambling now better stop this here EAT WAFFLES EVERYONE WITH MAPLE SYRUP okay I think I need to stop I'm like on a sugar high or something... R&amp;R&amp;Enjoy!  
-Candy888**

**Disclaimer: I own...half of the series. Only half of it sits on my bookshelf, the other half I don't even have...**

**xX-Xx**

**Traitor**

Adamus Sutekh, first ever Mogadorian traitor who managed to survive. Actually, probably the first ever Mogadorian traitor ever. That's what you're now known as to Mogadore. The traitorous wimp of a son of the great General Sutekh, who stabbed his race in the back like the pathetic coward everyone knew he really was.

You recall your old life on Mogadore. Were you happy there? Happy yes, but so blind. But you had been loved too; loved by your mother, who even now thought her son had died a hero to his race. Loved by your sister, who once looked up to her big brother, only to gaze at you with contempt and scorn alight in her eyes a few years later. Loved by your brother, who thought that the two of you could stay soldiers together, rising up the ranks as one. Loved by your father, who despite always doubting and thinking you as weak, was proud of his true Mogadorian son in his own way.

Now: now all you have left is the memory of a long-dead girl, blonde hair flashing in the sun as she made yet another sarcastic remark, sharp grin never leaving her face. She had loved you too, eventually.

You're pathetic, you think to yourself. Your best memory is of someone who never really knew you, was only a figment of an experimental procedure shoved into your mind.

Was it all worth it, in the end? Going against everything you knew, everything you had been raised to believe. For what? To try and aid a dying race's futile last attempts of survival in the form of 10 teenagers. You hadn't even succeeded, watching both Two and Three die in front of you, recalling the last traces of One's consciousness fade from your mind, the sunny California beach only a hazy memory.

Even now, you will never truly be one of the Garde. To them, you will always remain a Mogadorian, one of the destroyers of their home and everything they once knew. They will still feel the stings of past wounds inflicted upon them by your race, and will not be able to trust you as they would each other; and you can't blame them either, for it's what you would have done in their position. It's what you had done when you had first met One, instinctively wary and guarded against her.

But if you could have changed your life, changed it to be any other way, would you have?

You never truly belonged with the other mindless Mogadorian soldiers. The ones who valued strength over intelligence. Who would never question their orders, no matter the situation. You knew that it was only a matter of time before something within you changed and made you defy your commands.

Who are you?

You are broken- held together by the remnants of a dead girl's legacy.

You are incomplete- neither Mogadorian nor Loric, and mistrusted by both.

You are alone- a sole traitor in a planet of conformers.

But you are also intact- alive, and fighting for what you now believe to be right.

You are complete- you can feel her legacy within you whenever you release another seismic wave from your feet.

You are together- although not originally Loric, you know that eventually, you will be able to freely fight at their side.

Who are you, you ask yourself?

Adamus Sutekh, ready to fight for his own cause, made by his own choices.

xX-Xx

'_Monster!' she screams at you, shrill voice piercing your soul. Your only friend, abandoning you._

'_If you ever, ever, come near us again, I swear I'll take your other fucking eye!' the voice of someone who was once kind and pure, now bitter and hateful. _

'_Do what it takes…to…survive.' Two mentors, both lying dead at your hands. _

'_Traitor!' so many voices, all a unified call against you._

_You try to run from the voices, try to escape, but it's of no use. The words entangle you with their harsh truths, voices entrapping you like snares. Stumbling blindly through a maze of lies. What are your true allegiances?_

_You have so many personalities, put on by you as a mask to the rest of the world- but they crack so easily, showing everyone the crying boy within._

_Five. Cody. Traitor. Loric. Mogadorian. Coward. Weak._

_Their cries swim around you, faces disappearing and reappearing in the blink of an eye. They close in on you, hate gleaming in their eyes as they stare you down, sneering at you. You try to glare back, show them your true strength, but you are shrinking, falling. The shadows tower over you, looking down on you- your true self, the one that you always try to hide. Unseen hands grab at your limbs, dragging you to unknown places. You thrash and kick like a beaten animal, but it's too much for you. You're dragged into the darkness, listening to the echoing cackles of the triumphant. _

You wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding in the cavity of your chest. Your room is pitch black; there are no windows on a Mogadorian spaceship.

It's the same dream- the one you've had since Albert died. Each time with a new face added- Emma, Ethan, Eight, Marina. All of them hurling accusations at you, thinly veiled hate laced into their sentences. This is the price of being a traitor. Being weighed down by the souls of those you abandoned and killed.

You feel as if you're swimming against an endless current- each turn you make only brings about a new wave of danger and exhaustion until you're hopelessly lost in an endless ocean, torrential rain pouring down on your head and threatening to drown you.

You're so lost now, you don't know who you are anymore, don't know who you once were- where is the boy who once drew pictures in the sand, on a tranquil and calm island, then watched as the tide washed them away? Where is the soul who could not kill even a snake? How did that child turn into the person who was willing to kill his only friend?

Survive. That's all you've ever known. No matter what it takes, you have to survive, live on another day.

You repeat it like a mantra in your head, trying to drown out the endless wails and screams.

Survive. Keep going. Live. Stay alive. Survive.

You never deserved this, you think. It was never right for the elders to send you, a young and untrained orphaned alone to a hostile planet with just a sickly old man for guidance. They shouldn't have placed that burden on your shoulders and told you to take back your planet in an impossible war. It's their fault that this all happened, that you're going insane. Only because of them can you not get these voices out of your head and that you're starting to question your own decisions.

Not your fault. Not your responsibility.

All this time, you've only been trying to survive. Like what Albert and Ethan had told you.

_And look where it got them, _a snide voice remarks in your head, d_ead because of you. _

There's no one you can trust in this world anymore. Anyone you've ever trusted is dead or betrayed you; the only reason you're still alive is because you learned not to trust the Garde, or the Mogadorians. The only person left to trust is yourself.

That's all you can do now. You're not on either side of this infernal clash between two races. It can't be your fault for any of this. It can't be.

Each of your different facades- the weak child who couldn't harm a soul, the bitter boy angered at the entire world, the mindless soldier capable of executing all commands- it doesn't matter which one is real. Just another mask to everyone around you, better than the ones that mark your identity. You won't let them crack anymore though, won't let them show your inner debilitations. There are no more scars on you.

The voices resounding in your head- they're not there, you tell yourself, they can't be there. You won't go insane. You're the only sane one left in this world. Eight's death, it wasn't because of you, it was Nine. He made everything happen this way, he's the one who pushed you over the edge, and killed Eight. Not you. Emma was the one who abandoned you and called you a monster, so you never could have betrayed her. Albert was delusional, and you were right to join with the Mogadorians; it was the Loric who had sent Albert to this unknown planet with its inferior medical facilities. One by one, you silence the voices in your head.

There is no flaw in you, no omission or defection. You were only trying to survive.

And you'll keep on surviving for as long as you have to, to make it out of this game. Life's just a game, after all. One you plan to win.


	7. Human

**A/N: Part 7 yay I like narwhals aren't they cool. Done from the POV of one of the Cepans (pick one of your choice) hope you like it so tired now but my exams are FINALLY over (although I swear I failed all of them) have a great day/night/whatever time it is in the world today is a great day to learn something new or old or somewhat new or old yeah rambling again. R&amp;R&amp;Enjoy! -Candy888  
**

**Disclaimer: I disclaim ownership to the entire Lorien Legacies series, which sucks.**

**Human**

_But I'm only human  
And I bleed when I fall down  
I'm only human  
And I crash and I break down_

_-_'Human,' Christina Perri

xX-Xx

_Here's to humanity. _

You give a short laugh, and take a sip of your drink. The others follow suit, similar expressions overtaking their faces as they mutter _bottoms up, _some downing their drinks while others take a small swallow before setting it down.

Humanity- how bitterly ironic. The most so for Sandor, who shouldn't even be alive. Let alone travelling to a distant unknown planet where your only hope of survival is to blend in. How utterly humane.

Nine of you sit around a table, your only companions for the remainder of your lives slumbering peacefully in the next room over, blissfully unaware of their futures. Let them remain that way, for as long as possible. Innocent, untrained and happy. So they don't have to shoulder the burden of their duties until they are older. They are too young to hold this responsibility in their hands, the responsibility of avenging and keeping alive an entire race, and taking back what was once their planet.

A fresh wave of melancholy overtakes you. You had left everything you had back on Lorien. _Your family, dead in the blink of any eye. Two older brothers. Gunned down by a platoon of soldiers, weaponless and without legacies_. _Your_ _elder sister. Torn apart by a piken, claws digging into her chest and piercing through her heart, ending her life. Even your parents, yelling at you to _RUN! _while they threw themselves in front of an advancing army as you scrambled away like a coward towards the spaceship. _All the while, you were forced to watch from above, hovering around the planet in the safety of the spacecraft. Safe while everyone else suffered for it.

You remember the warnings, the endless drills in case something ever happened, but you never thought it would ever come true. All precautions had flown out the window the second the power was cut off, throwing the entire planet into darkness aside from the few misplaced bursts of sparks from accidental fireworks. Panicked people had taken to the streets, drunk and unprepared for what was to come. A celebration ending in a bloodbath.

Tonight is the three month anniversary of when you left Lorien, scarred from the sight of charred and broken corpses scattered around the planet.

"I can still remember her voice," Henri mumbles suddenly, eyes fixated on the table.

"I wanted to take her with me. Julianne. But…she told me to leave her. Begged me to abandon her, leave her to their weapons and pikens and krauls and who knows what else. And she was killed because of it," he finishes darkly, draining the last of his glass.

You all share the same scars, the same memories. Some worse than others.

Boarding the spaceship, a tiny hand grasped firmly in yours- curious face alight with joy at the prospect of another 'adventure,' while yours was already hardened over in a mask of upbeat positivity. In reality, you were still reeling from Loridas's last words to the Cepans.

_Protect them. They are Lorien's future- our last hope. _

You take another swig of your drink, feeling the bitter liquid slide down your throat. How can you train the most powerful beings of your planet? How can you expect yourself to be able to care for them, when they only serve to remind you of what you lost? It's not because of them, no, the young Garde did nothing wrong. But how can you face yourself in the mirror, knowing you ran away from the battle and abandoned your people to a conquering invasion?

When the time comes, you don't know what you will do. You will train your Garde, yes, hone their legacies and tell them of their heritage. But it will not be enough; how can it be enough? Why did the elders put so much faith in a ragtag group of Cepans, entrusting them to the safety of these nine young Garde who harbor so much power, yet so much loss?

All of you will take on different identities, hiding and camouflaging yourselves in the far corners of the world from remote African villages to isolated American towns. You will not see each other again, for you know you will be dead. And, despite all the words of reassurance, you know that by the time the Garde meet up once more, they will have lost some of their members.

The first Loric up on the slaughtering block- Number One. A bright, happy child with hair the colour of the sun. She will be dead, with the Mogadorians chasing you as agitatedly as they are.

Number Two is a slight girl with fiery red hair, and a shy personality to contrast. Maybe she will be killed too, mercilessly stabbed, shot, strangled or murdered in a number of possibilities.

Those two, lucky or unlucky as they were to escape that night, will be the first to die after. Whether by chance or fate, they will be outlived by the others. And to top it all off is Number Nine, who received his blessing as the 9th Garde because he was late. The universe has such a mocking sense of humour.

You can't blame Nine, or Sandor, who is still so shaken up by his accidental survival at the cost of another. There is no one to blame you, and that is what grates you the most. The Loric, despite being a peaceful and kind race, are truly humane. If they are pricked, they will bleed. If they are hurt, they will feel pain. They have eyes, feet, organs, hands. And if they feel anger, they will put the blame on someone, just like anyone else would. You are not saints, and you cannot pretend to be invincible.

It's impossible to brush aside all that's occurred, and all that's going to come. You are going to die, too. It is not the job of a Cepan to live in place of their Garde. Sacrifices have to be made to achieve anything in the world, a lesson learned the hard way. And soon you too will be sacrificed in return for something greater that the Garde will hopefully live to see.

Some days it all seems like one big joke to you, some delusion that someone will call you out on for ever believing. And you just want to turn away from it all, ignore your duty and curl in a ball in a far-off corner, letting your emotions overwhelm you and toss you around like a ship in a hurricane. You wish you could slip up like that, make a mistake and correct it again. That you could fade into the background and imagine that you never had to grow up.

Create a world where you were just a child again, where you spent days outside playing tag with your three siblings. The four of you tumbling over strands of grass, only to get back up again with stains on your knees and a grin threatening to tear your face open.

_Tag! _They would yell, before sprinting away from the person they tapped as he or she followed in hot pursuit. You would follow, struggling to keep up as they got further and further away from you. You never minded, though. It was enough in itself to join them, chase after their receding backs as you flew over hills and rolled down gentle slopes, laughing all the while.

It's your fondest wish, to go back to the time where nothing matter but the four of you, and you never saw farther than escaping from whoever was 'it.'

Breaking down isn't allowed anymore though. You can't make another mistake now. And a childhood memory is only a way of keeping the nightmares at bay, the screams and fires burning within your mind. Replace the sad with the happy, that's what your older sister had always told you. But it's a way that will eventually cause you to collapse inside out from the ache of it all.

You've tried to erase the memory, become a perfect Cepan who's only relation is to their Garde, your conscience telling you to abide by your duty. Yet- you can't, not anymore. It was fine at first, but now all you can see when you close your eyes are your siblings, holding their arms out to you, voices raised in jubilance and excitement. Maybe you can just imagine. It's your way of coping, holding on to what you have left. Imagine a world where your mistakes never happened, and you could bear to look at your own reflection without seeing the ugliness of it all. So you cling on to that last shred of make-believe, the last shard of innocence from a sunny childhood, and hold it as a cherished secret. It's your mistake, but you'll stand up again.

After all, you're only human.

xX-Xx


	8. Hello Shooting Star

**A/N: Hey, long time no update? (I'm sorry! I...have no excuse). Navrina one-shot in Marina's POV, based off of the song Hello Shooting Star by Moumoon (I used the english translation for a lot of the lyrics). Thanks to Ninealltheway for reviewing! R&amp;R&amp;Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own the series, don't own the song. Don't sue me please.**

_**Hello Shooting Star**_

(Inspired by Hello Shooting Star, song by Moumoon)

xX-Xx

_No matter how much I draw, it just won't come out right._

You sit on the cliff side, a rare moment of peace before the preordained battle. A small piece of paper sits on your lap as you idly twirl a pencil between your fingers, intent on capturing the moment of peace. Without noticing it, you find your fingers sketching his figure, the way his curly hair would flop over his green eyelids and highlight his ever present smile.

The graphite slowly drags itself across the white surface of paper, etching tiny marks in its wake. You trace the faint indents the pencil has left behind, making up the last dregs of memory that he has given you. A faint quirk of the lips. Eyes sparking with mischief, lighting up at every opportunity. Relaxed stance with arms welcomingly open, as if he had all the time in the world. It's not enough, never enough to keep this one small memory of him of the short time you had together. It's all you have now, though- memories piled up on one another, stored in a place no one will ever find.

A single page of pencil markings overtake your page and assault your vision. They make up the contours and curvatures of his face, which despite all your efforts, cannot convey the old brightness of his normal smile. It's impossible to objectify his expression that way, but you wish you could.

_It's okay, _he seems to say, _You brought me here._

Brought him to life along a blank canvas, dragging up the last bits of your memory, and letting them go. Letting them vanish into the night like stars in the beginning of dawn.

Like his body had been absorbed by the Loralite before breaking apart and scattering to the wind, spreading itself around and becoming a part of all of you. An invisible presence, silently holding you up and wrapping itself around you, not letting you fall.

_I can still remember the shooting star I saw, in the dead of last night; I was waiting for…_

You remember so much, yet so little. So many furtive looks and slight brushes hidden behind averted eyes and blushing faces. A mountain of emotions between a few words. He is like a shooting star, sudden and bright, flashing across your life before leaving behind only an image.

Helping you up the ledge in India, a first brushstroke on an empty space of white. Then, laughing, teasing, forgetting who you were for just a few moments as you met him, discovered who he truly was. The lonely boy living in a world of scarlet bloodlust, amber betrayal and obscure fury. And the world he found of turquoise heavens and lush green hills, holding a secret world of love.

A second mark, paintbrush swooping over the barren sky of your canvas, painting in words of in between and shared secrets in an illusion of happiness. Hues and tints of sapphires, emeralds and rubies merging the edges of your world with his. The desolate atmosphere of your fate lightening once more. Your paintbrush moves faster, rushing to capture the moments of your life in unexplainable ups and downs, each a different tone of him.

He shines like the sun, a colour that can't be expressed in words. Standing before the dawn, letting the tendrils of light illuminate his silhouette through the shadows of your sketch. Glancing up, you can almost see his visage in the distance, just far enough to reach out and feel your fingers slip through empty air as you grasp at what's not there.

_Even if I'm in tears, because I can't give up dreaming._

Tears are starting to gather in your eyes now, but you don't wipe them away. Crying is not something you hold back anymore- the tears freely roll down your face, shining in the morning sun as you finally, finally cry. Tears drip onto the ground around you, soaking the earth and diluting the background to black and white once more.

The way your legacy had protruded from the ground, freezing the air and erasing any colours of love and hope that had once resided there. So cold and bare, grasping your mind and turning its monochromatic vision on the rest of the world. Stopping your heart in its tracks, as you heard blood thrum throughout your body, pulses slowly fading to a loud din of _why _and _no _and everything you tried to hold back. A canvas with a million shades of gray, falling into place with one another as the spectrums vanished from your sight.

You could only draw in death and sadness, etching out harsh, black lines of rage and hatred. So many words left unsaid, scratched in the harsh lines that cloud your mind, tainted by the bitter freeze of the pencil. You broke free, though. Melted the chains that had once frozen you, letting go of your yesterdays and facing your new tomorrow.

Now, they no longer control you, no longer leave you in a blank world of black and white- no, you're stronger than that.

A world without him is a world without colour, but you have always been an artist.

You can paint in the colours, flood your surroundings with the emotions of your memories. Dream of what might have been- but also of what could be. A place that wasn't so monochrome, where you will draw your new future. Dreaming, floating, travelling somewhere far away only you two can touch, where the blues of the sky soak into the welcoming earth, where your two canvases stretch and collide in a bang of feelings and wordless thoughts.

Your imaginations saturate the sky, taking a hold of your pencil and sweeping it over the paper in large, vivid strokes. Soon, his face gazes out at you from a land of unimaginable colours, the sky a mirage of endless darkness no longer.

_This transparent world is reflected there. It's a colour much like looking up to the sky and feeling peace._

The greys of your drawings stare up at you, small pencil marks like ashes on each contour and line, displaying the imperfections that make up what he is. A star, at first is a bright light, glimmering brilliantly like a diamond. However, the closer you get, the more you can see its cracks and flaws that let it shine that way.

The colours of the sky cannot be drawn with a pencil, but you imagine they are there, spraying light around the area and casting soft glows on his features. Words were not spoken between the two of you, but you know your thoughts were conveyed. A farewell, and a greeting. Daydreams and fantasies exploding in your monochromatic life, scattering a sense of calm and peace you haven't felt in a long time, reflecting back at the perpetual sky. The sky, both below and above, is everlasting, a mixture of the world's canvases thrown against one another, not quite revealing the stars beyond. Stars that you once came from, and where he did, too. Locked up against the background of the never sky and twinkling in and out of existence.

Stars you will always try to reach, the way an innocent child stretches their hand out at the pretty little butterfly that trembles through the air. But maybe it was time to let go of your stars.

_I'm waiting for you, always…_

You stand, letting the paper slip from your fingers and flutter off the cliff before disappearing off the edge into the horizon beyond. It hovers in the air, irradiated by the glowing sun, then vanishes. The sky above is light; the last stars have faded into the mirage of crimson and coral, overshadowed by the rising sun.

Yet, you know they are still there, watching from a place you can't reach. You will wait for nightfall, for the stars to appear once more. Wait for him, too, for you know he waits for you in a place only the stars can see.

There are clouds in the sky, warning of the coming rain and the bleak canvas that sits within you. The rain always falls, but sunshine will follow, brightening your spectrum once more. You don't need a rainbow to show the colours that splash themselves upon your life.

Your memories will one day fade and blur to indistinguishable shadows. Voices long forgotten hanging in empty spaces only known to the two of you. And the light of the shooting you star will fade too, until you're left with an empty canvas once more. But you will wait for your shooting star again.

_Thank you, _you say to his drawn face as it flies away, entranced by the breeze and rising sun. _Not for the yesterdays we once had, or the tomorrows we could have shared, but for the today you've given me. Thank you, and hello again. Hello to the tomorrows we'll face together._

…_So keep on shining._

xX-Xx


	9. Scars

**A/N: Another chapter at last! This one is Six-centric, about her past before I am Number Four. Dedicated to lorien stories for suggesting a Six chapter (I'm sorry it took me so long). Thanks to Ashley Sky for reviewing! R&amp;R&amp;Enjoy!**

**-Candy888**

**Disclaimer: I disclaim this disclaimer for disclaiming this series.**

**xX-Xx**

**Scars**

You trace the ever familiar scars that wrap themselves around your ankle, engraved within your flesh for so long. There are 4 of them there now, each representing the face and name of someone long gone. There are other scars carved on your body, both visible and invisible, all of them the representation of who you are, a fragment of your past carried with you.

A criss-crossing patchwork of cuts that scrape across your knuckles. You are a fighter, marked by the myriad of scrapes and bruises that mar your hands and skin.

_The wall crumbles before you, your drawn fist buried within it. You stare in awe at the sight, unable to comprehend what you saw. It was the first time you had ever shown strength, ever shown yourself to be more capable than just a weak little girl._

_Gingerly you pull your hand out from the mess, hissing in the slight pain that comes with it as the rocks drag across your skin, creating small pinpricks of crimson against the dusty gray tone. _

"_Look Katarina!" you eagerly call out to your mentor, waving your arm in the air. She stands as thunderstruck as you were, eyes wide and unblinking._

_A small smile graces her lips as she moves once more, approaching your seemingly tiny figure- no longer so small, perhaps, now that she knew what you could do. _

"_I'm looking, Six," she tells you, pride shining in her eyes, "I think it's about time we started training."_

_You leap up, pumping your fist in the air, forgetting the pain and anything else that came before._

_It's your first step out, away from the world of not-yets and what-ifs. A first breath of air before the walls came crashing down much like the one you stand before._

There's a million and one bruises on you from the days that followed, days of training and laughter and growing stronger. You can't place over half of them, don't know when and where they appeared; but you know they're there, imprints hidden within you.

It was tough at times, the familiar burning in your lungs suffocating you as your legs threatened to collapse from underneath you. Nonetheless, you felt like you could take on the entire world, climb the highest mountain and just _fly. _It's a feeling you wouldn't trade for anything else.

Then, the second scar. Right there, above the first, surrounded by angry red lines and almost shouting at you: _Look at me- look what I've done. Look at how I burned your world to the ground._

_The second you press the 'post' button, you know something is wrong. But you're too caught up in the moment, too excited over the prospect of another person like you out there. For so long you were alone, you were starved for news of the others, of the world around you._

_Soon enough, it comes. Searing itself into your calf, agonizing pain ripping you apart as your blood bubbles and oozes around the scar, a streak of scarlet splitting the surface of your skin apart. You clutch your leg, biting your lip through the screams that threaten to escape your throat as the world dims and blurs around you. _

_The pain fades to a slight throb, your new scar pulsing slightly as you regain your breath, struggling to calm your heartbeat. Next to you, you see Katarina's face; deathly pale, as she stares at the screen. The post was deleted. Number Two was now dead. It was too much of a coincidence to ignore any longer._

"_Pack your things, Six." She only called you that when she was serious. Normally, it was Ruth, Maren, Leah, any of the dozens of identities the two of you had taken on during your time on the run._

_You drive away from the safe house, things haphazardly thrown into the trunk- the Chest is clutched against your chest as you sit stock still in the seat, wondering what was to come next. Katarina is beside you, her laboured breathing filtering over the loud roar of the car's motor. Her foot is slammed down on the gas pedal, forehead beaded with sweat as she quietly mutters,_

"_Come on. Just this once. We have to make it far enough. We have to."_

_It's still so much like a game to you, a fantasy that would be incomprehensible if not for the still pulsating mark that's wrapped itself around your leg. _

_The road slopes and curves ahead of you, winding around scraggly cliffs and looming hills. The minutes pass into hours, and the car never stops, plowing ahead through the empty road to somewhere else far away. You feel your eyes closing as you drift in and out of consciousness, the pain in your leg still lingering. Katarina's eyes remain open, staring ahead at the never ending road. Her mouth is set in a thin, hard, line as her fingers clench the steering wheel, knuckles white and strained. _

_A pang of fear suddenly grips you. What if you don't make it out of this? What if they catch up to you? What if… an endless stream of questions overloading your brains, clouding your mind in its drowsy state._

"_Kat?" you mumble, barely awake. _

"_Yes?" she replies, eyes never wavering from the road._

"_We're going to be okay…right?" _

"…_of course we are." (It's a lie; all of it)_

_It's a hushed, quiet reassurance, but one that speaks volumes to you. Everything will be okay now- why would Katarina lie to you? Your worry vanishes, and you feel yourself slipping into a dreamless sleep, comforted by the presence next to you._

_She couldn't have told a bigger lie._

The next scars are unseen, just as your Legacy makes you. It's a simple slash across the cheek, a light scratch that would barely draw blood. Only a few droplets of vermillion that gleam brightly on the silver razor. Yet to this day, you can outline the exact mark that was made across the skin, the exact location that the blade had tried to slice, only to succumb to the charm surrounding your ankle.

A mark of things that were to come. Warning, premonition, omen; everything wrapped up and planned the moment you first opened the hotel door to see the leering grin of the pale stranger from the diner.

Captured, seized, and taken away to the base.

Roughly thrown into the cell.

Wondering if it would be better to just die now.

But you couldn't die, not when there were still 3 others before you; 3 more numbers to cross off a list, while you sat in this cave, immortal yet so vulnerable.

Maybe it would be better if you died then.

_You are slumped against the wall, your body bound in coils of wires and rope. Your head is turned down, unwilling to face your torturer as the binds bite into your skin, leaving bright red welts. A desk sits in the middle of the room, around which a Mogadorian interrogator is pacing. Katarina sits at the opposite wall, but she is not broken. She faces the standing Mogadorian with fury blazing in her eyes, unyielding to the one before her. He merely spits at the ground in front of her feet, eyes gazing down mockingly at her. They are aware of who is in control here. You have no form of escape, no way for the prey to escape the watching eyes of those who snatched it._

_The Mogadorian turns on his heel, rounding on your hunched form. _

"_Head up!" he barks at you._

_Wearily, you lift your head- it has been two days since you faced light. A sneering face meets you, mouth permanently twisted in a scowl as his shadow looms over you, blocking out the light behind. _

"_What are you? Which one of those scum are you!" he screams, spit flying at your face._

_You give a slight wince, but clamp your mouth shut. You will not break, will not reveal anything. _

"_Answer me!" he threatens, raising his fist._

_His only response is silence. A glare has start to fix itself on your face._

"_Fine. You want it that way, scum?!"_

_He stalks over to the desk, pulling out an assortment of razors and knives and slamming them onto the tabletop. Pulling out a particularly sharp blade, he rotates it through the air, letting the light glint off it as he gives a wicked grin. _

_Like a hurricane, he storms back over to you, razor flashing by his side._

"_You see this? This, this, is going to be covered in your blood by the time I have my answers. It doesn't how much you scream. No one listens to the cries of insects."_

_The blade hovers dangerously near your cheek, the cool metal brushing against your flesh. Your skin is pale against the dank concrete wall, the harsh white light illuminating your features. Involuntarily, your heart rate increases, hammering in your chest like the footfalls of an executioner._

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Your mouth opens and closes, gulping in air like a fish flopping lifelessly on a beach shore. _

"_Now I'm going to give you one more chance, scum, before I drive this blade straight through your heart. If you value your life, you're going to answer me. Which. One. Are. You?"_

_The last words are in a silky tone, barely concealing the venom that lay beneath. Hatred drips off his voice as he presses the blade to your cheek, causing you to shrink away from the razor, huddling closer against the wall._

_You clench your fists, steeling your nerves. There is no way you will tell him anything._

"_I. Don't. Know." You bite out, but you hear the tremor in your voice._

_As if sensing your fear, the Mogadorian lets his features slide into a triumphant smile. His eyes are still tinged with rage, but now there is an element of bloodlust, his sadistic tendencies about to take full control of this scene. _

"_Very well then. I guess we'll have to force the answer out of you,"_

_With that, he lunges forward too quickly for you to turn away, a quick slice across your cheek meant to taint the razor with your blood._

_But there is no pain. No rivers of vermillion pouring down your face. Instead, you watch in shock as the Mogadorian staggers back, wrath written all over his expression. There is a single line down his face, one that is dripping blood even as he cups it in his free hand. His eyes never leave yours as he glares daggers at you, screaming obscenities while the door opens and the guards come in, shoving you back into your cell and away from Katarina. You know that you will pay for that. _

You spent 2 days in that cell before they called you once more.

The last 2 days before Katarina had died before your eyes.

Before, in a bout of fear, you had blurted out everything. All the truths she had worked tirelessly to conceal.

Then, that same blade, driving through her heart and ending your life.

Laughter- cruel, scornful laughter filling your ears as spots of black danced in front of your eyes.

Another 185 days in the base, with the same laughter echoing in your brain as you were corralled like an animal from station to station. Watched with unseeing eyes as they tried to kill you, only to die themselves.

You lost all hope. It was only a matter of time before you, too, were crossed off that list.

A single scar, one that never pierced you skin, brought so much pain and suffering. How many regrets did it carry?

There is a final scar, an unseen mental wound that physically showed on another. It is the first true mark of what you had become. Survivor.

_Breath coming out in discordant gasps, you tackle the Mogadorian scout, shoving him onto his back. This one will not kill you. None of the others ever have. You won't let it end now._

_His fingers are wrapped around the dagger in his hands, unwilling to let go. Gritting your teeth, you pry his knuckles open with telekinesis, then grab the knife from his hands. Your situations are reversed now- you have the weapon; the power and control. _

Killer.

_Not pausing, you pin his arms to his sides as you dive forward, intent on bringing the knife down. Yet you hesitate- you have never killed before, other than animals that never once fought back. _

_The Mogadorian lunges upward, seizing his chance. His hands reach for the metal, and in a burst of adrenaline, you stab his throat right before his fingers touch yours. You scramble backwards automatically, the knife clattering to the ground. Your face contorts in horror, as you collapse at the severity of what you did. _

_Deep down, you know it was necessary. And you would do it all over again the second you had to._

Warrior.

_The scout crumbles into ash, carried away by the passing wind. He is no more, just another mountain of obscure dust drifting somewhere else._

_You are alone. There's a faint ringing in the air, accompanied by your frantic pants as your heart rate slowly calms. _

_Standing up, you quietly locate the point you had stabbed. A spot on the neck, where you had rammed the dagger, ending his life. Your hesitation had almost cost you your own. Another millisecond longer, and it would have been you bleeding out on the ground, glassy eyes staring lifelessly at the sky._

_You feel no more hesitation, nothing more than a sense of survival- do anything it takes to keep going and avenge Lorien, you tell yourself. A mantra you would repeat for years to come._

So many scars, on top of and beneath your skin. Deep, gashing battle wounds and light scratches. Memories made through pain and suffering, creating your identity. Branding you as who you are- avenger, survivor, a plethora of names. All overridden by one name in particular, one indicated by the charm on your leg.

Number Six.


End file.
